Ashes to ashes, cop to cop. R.I.P.D. supposes that, when a good police officer dies, he or she moves on to the same job in the hereafter. It’s a comforting thought, and I spent part of the movie wondering if it applied to other vocations. Is Roger Ebert even now reviewing Heaven’s Gate with a new perspective? Did Alex Colville just show up to paint his portrait?

Alas, this movie doesn’t let itself get too philosophical. About the deepest thought it manages to construct is: If the body of Victoria’s Secret model Marisa Miller was inhabited by the soul of Jeff Bridges, would it still be sexy? Answer: Duh.

Bridges plays Roycephus Pulsipher, a Wild West lawman now working for the Rest In Peace Department. This is a sub-unit of the afterlife’s bureaucracy, charged with apprehending dead people who are illegally (indeed, sinfully) squatting in the land of the living. The cops have special guns that can obliterate any so-called dead-o, a fate literally worse than death.

The R.I.P.D.’s newest recruit is Boston cop Nick Walker (Ryan Reynolds), who pocketed (buried, actually) some ill-gotten gold and was then shot in the face for his troubles. He also leaves behind a charming French wife (Stephanie Szostak) and a less-than-honest partner (Kevin Bacon).

Welcoming him to the afterlife, and pairing him with the goateed Roycephus, is a desk jockey named Proctor (Mary-Louise Parker). Roy is less than pleased with the rookie, calling to mind the Men in Black franchise that R.I.P.D. has cleverly R.I.P.P.E.D. off.

Nick and Roy return to Boston, which seems to hold the record for deceased citizens. To prevent themselves from being recognized, the powers that be have decreed that Nick should appear to others as an octogenarian Asian man (James Hong), while Roy looks like someone from Maxim’s most-wanted list. Some of the film’s funniest moments are when we get to see them this way, a team I dubbed Cleavage and Chan.

Proctor explains that the dead are able to sneak back to Earth because about 150,000 people perish every day, and “this system wasn’t designed to handle that kind of volume.” Again, questions raised but not answered.

One question the film does answer: How much apocalyptic mayhem does $130 million buy, after you pay for Reynolds’ and Bridges’ salaries and Miller’s pushup bras? Turns out you can raze a bit of downtown Boston, and buy several dozen fat suits with the change. Corpses are corpulent, you see.

R.I.P.D. wasn’t screened for critics in time for a Friday review in print, a situation that usually signals a film that arrives dead in theatres. This one does, but only in the sense that the plot demands it. In other respects, director Robert Schwentke (Red, The Time Traveler’s Wife) and his trio of writers have crafted a not-too-horrible comedy that makes good use of Bridges’ drawl and Reynolds’ straight face.

You won’t see it popping up on any best-of lists, but it is an adequate 96-minute time-waster. It gets a little silly in the final act, when swirly portals start opening in the sky and bullets fly like — well, like bullets, I guess. But the actors commit to the roles, which is a lot to say when their characters are deceased.

There are also some strange nods to Blade Runner and to Dr. Strangelove, which I’m not sure will resonate with the target audience. Then again, it’s hard to know just what that audience is. R.I.P.D. would probably be happy if you have a pulse.

A Radio-Canada reporter has been arrested for alleged criminal harassment while pursuing the subject of a story. According to Radio-Canada, reporter Antoine Trépanier was arrested Tuesday night by Gatineau police. He was released on a promise to appear in court. Trépanier was called by Gatineau police Tuesday evening and an officer requested that he come […]

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